


a loss of self

by jhoom



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: (mostly hurt), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nicky | Nicolò di Genova Whump, Torture, made a lab rat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:54:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26098945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jhoom/pseuds/jhoom
Summary: After being brought to Merrick's labs, Nicky and Joe are separated. Nicky can think of nothing worse than losing Joe, even as he endures Dr. Kozak's experiments.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 33
Kudos: 489
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	a loss of self

**Author's Note:**

> this isn't even what i was planning to write today 🤦♀️ whoops 
> 
> here's another [Bad Things Happen](https://badthingshappenbingo.tumblr.com/) bingo card fill, filled with all the angst. today the prompt is: "made a lab rat"
> 
> come visit me on tumblr [@jhoomwrites](http://jhoomwrites.tumblr.com) where i'm taking prompts for [my current bingo card](https://jhoomwrites.tumblr.com/post/626343042674294785/jhoomwrites-here-is-your-new-card-for-bad-things).

Nicky wakes up strapped to a table, alone. It’s a small room, filled with medical supplies and monitors; it’s not just that he’s alone, there’s no _place_ for another person. His isolation isn’t temporary, it’s by design. 

It’s meant for him to stay alone. 

Being trapped is not a new feeling for Nicky. As old as he is and in his line of work, he’s been captured and held prisoner dozens of times. There was even that time he was stuck in a collapsed mine for the better part of a week until Joe and Andy dug him out. 

And he supposes that’s where the panic starts to set in. 

Andy is out there, yes, but she doesn’t know _where_ he is. She doesn’t know _who_ took him or _why_. She has nothing, no leads; unless Booker can work a miracle... 

But that’s not why he’s starting to hyperventilate. That’s not why his vision is going spotty and he’s shaking uncontrollably against his bindings. He can hear the heart rate monitor mapping the erratic staccato of his heart. 

Joe. Where is _Joe_? 

When they’re separated, it’s not like this. It’s not blind separation; he _always_ knows where Joe is, _always_ knows when he will see him again, _always_ can count on a reunion. 

He can count on nothing right now. He knows nothing. He is alone and that means _Joe’s_ alone and these people that have them mean to do _terrible_ things and who will tell Joe stories to calm him down and reassure him- 

“What’s this?” 

As he gasps for lungfuls of air, he watches a woman approach. A doctor, _the_ doctor, and she looks over his monitors, looks down at him with distant curiosity. 

“Panic attack?” she drawls as she grabs a syringe. He shakes his head vehemently and tries to pull away as she sticks it in him, cold liquid being pumped into his veins. 

“Joe?” he manages to choke out even as his tongue grows numb and his eyelids become impossibly heavy. “Where?” 

She just laughs at him, this little chuckle that makes him shiver. He’s met enough monsters, he knows a person devoid of conscience when he sees one. 

“The other one? He’s fine. You lot are always fine, aren’t you? Quite exciting to find out how that works. What makes you tick.” 

His eyes are closed, the words are far. 

“Don’t worry about him,” she whispers. “Worry about yourself. Besides, don’t think you’ll be seeing him ever again.” 

~ ~ ~

When Nicky passes out, he dreams. He dreams terrible things: Joe being pulled from his arms; Joe being cut into pieces only to knit himself back together so they can start all over again: Joe screaming for him; Joe giving up and believing Nicky will not come for him. 

He dreams and wakes up screaming. 

And then, when he has to live through what they have in store for him, he screams some more. 

It is better than his dreams, though, so he does not protest.

~ ~ ~

Sometimes they leave be for so long he’s sure they’ve forgotten him. And then he wonders _who_ was forgotten him? The doctor will come back eventually, he thinks, unless she really has unlocked the secret of his immortality. Have Andy and Booker forgotten about him? Have they been unable to pick up the trail, has Copley disappeared completely? 

Was it just too hard? Like it was with Quynh... 

He winces. He does not want to think about Quynh. He does not want to think about what her situation and what it has in common with his. He does not want to worry that he will be stuck here forever, until he takes his true last breath and disappears from this earth. 

He does not want to think that Joe has abandoned him, or worse, that he too has been abandoned to cruelty. 

With unseeing eyes, he stares blindly into the room that is his prison, and for the first time in many many years, he prays. He prays for Joe, for himself...

And for Quynh. 

~ ~ ~

He’s bleeding out. It is a sickeningly familiar feeling. Not because he’s felt it before - he has, many times, bled out on the battlefield - but because he’s been killed like this nearly daily on this very table. The room smells of his blood despite the antiseptics, the freshness of it now overpowering everything else. 

“How many times have you lost a limb?” the doctor asks him as she stares at his severed feet. 

“When did you lose your heart?” he shoots back. 

She glares at him a moment before her attention goes back to his legs. He’s going quickly, he thinks. So much blood, so fast, he won’t last more than a few minutes at this rate. 

Good. He does not want to speak with this woman. 

“How small would I have to cut you up,” she muses to herself, “before you don’t heal? Does it stem from your heart? Your brain? If I cut off your head, would your body grow a new head or would your head grow a new body?” 

“What does this have to do with medicine?” he asks. His words are slurred. “You do not need to know these things to learn from our DNA, our cells. I am no doctor, not like you claim to be, but I know enough to know torture when I see it.” 

She has the indecency to roll his eyes at him. “Science is about experimentation-” 

“Experimentation? Is that what this is?” 

Her mouth becomes a thin line. “You think I am unethical?” she challenges. “You think I do this and don’t learn from it?” 

As his vision fades and his strength leaves him, he says, “I would say immoral.” And then the world goes black.

~ ~ ~

The thing is, she does not ask questions he himself has not wondered. Which pieces of him are essential? Which are not? How much of himself could be cut away before all that he is, is gone? 

Is he really Nicolo di Genova anymore? Surely all the pieces of that man who left to fight in Jerusalem have been lost and replaced so many times that he _cannot_ be. He doesn’t even mean the physical pieces, the flesh and blood and bone; there are intangible pieces of himself that have been whittled away and shaped into something new entirely. 

He longs for Joe; he worries about the pieces he’s missing or that he’s lost, and it’s only because the most important one is gone. 

What kind of man can he be without his heart?

~ ~ ~

Weeks or months or years after he’s brought to the lab, when all he can remember is sterile white walls and the doctor’s face, he wakes up and sees another’s face instead. Dark, familiar eyes, beautiful beyond measure.

He blinks, unsure whether he’s still dreaming or if he’s hallucinating. They were poking in his head (quite literally) the other day, perhaps they broke something that hasn’t quite fixed itself yet. 

“Nicolo,” the man whispers urgently. “Nicolo, can you hear me, my heart?” 

The words, that voice, they jolt something lose. Dream or broken reality, Nicky finds he doesn’t care. Any version of Joe is better than none at all. 

“Yusuf,” he whines. He tries to move, but he’s still trapped. Joe notices and gets to work on the bindings. Nicky watches, not able to muster the energy to move and help him, even when his arms are free.

“What have they done to you?” Joe asks with no small amount of concern. He himself looks haggard but otherwise not unwell. 

“They killed me. Over and over, that woman, she killed me. She took out pieces... poked and cut and... and _injected_ me with things...” 

There was also that one time, the time Merrick came to see the progress. He’d stood over Nicky and asked him evenly if he was ready to help make a breakthrough for the world. When Nicky had spit in his face, he remembers clammy hands wrapping around his throat and choking him. 

And then his hands finally cooperate. He guides them to Joe, stops him from untying his legs, and pulls him in for a kiss. It is bliss, and his lips linger longer than they should during an escape. 

“Are you alright?” Nicky asks. He keeps his eyes closed, not sure he could bare to see the echoes of the same torture in his beloved’s eyes.

“I have you, don’t I?” Joe kisses his forehead and urges him up. “The others are waiting. Can you walk, habibi?” 

Nicky is not sure he can. He tries though, for Joe, and only ends up knocking over a tray before he’s in Joe’s arms. 

“Nicolo!” Joe says in alarm. A darkness grows at the corners of his expression, a look that Nicky knows means death and other very bad things for the other people in this building.

“It’s fine, I’ll be fine,” he says and pats Joe’s arm. It’s the wrong move, that small act of comfort only making Joe more upset.

“It is _not_ fine-” 

“We should leave, yes? You can fret over me as much as you like when we’re safe, but I promise, I’m fine.” 

“I will kill _everyone_ who laid a hand on you-” 

Feeling better than he has in ages, Nicky finds the strength to limp away from Joe and towards the door. “If you must, my heart. Let’s go, I’m sick of this room.”

~ ~ ~

“They made him a lab rat!” Joe screams before Andy’s firm hand on his shoulder stops him. He reels in his anger, but there’s still anguish in his voice. “I cannot forgive Booker for this. Not now.” 

Andy nods. “They did the same to you, you know.” 

“I don’t care what they did to me,” Joe says defiantly. “I care what they did to Nicky.” 

Nicky sits on the edge of the bed, the only one in their little safe house. He is tired, so tired; he also dreads sleep. He does not know what it is to sleep without nightmares. 

“We will decide tomorrow,” Nicky soothes. He reaches for Joe, who comes immediately to kneel by his side, and turns to Andy. “Leave us be.” 

She raises her hands in surrender and closes the door behind her. It’s barely clicked into place before Joe is wrapping his arms around Nicky’s waist and burying his face in his chest. 

“I thought I lost you. They _hurt_ you, and I was not there...” 

Nicky runs his hands through Joe’s hair. It’s dirty and matted - they will need a shower sooner or later - but he’s missed this so. He does not mind the minor imperfections; it makes it more real. 

“They hurt us both. I don’t care anymore. We’re free and we’re together. I don’t want to waste this time thinking about things that happened and cannot be undone.” 

Joe looks up at him with wide, red-rimmed eyes. “The world does not deserve you, habibi.” 

“I don’t know about that. But if you want to give me what I deserve, you will tell me sweet words until I fall asleep in your arms, and you will hold me all night while I try to feel like a real person again.” 

Joe has never been one to deny Nicky when he makes a request. 

“What type of sweet words?” he asks. There is still anger there, a rage that he will turn towards Booker later when given the chance, but he is making an effort to bury it now. “What would you like to hear?” 

“You are the poet, not me.” Nicky smiles, drinks his fill of this moment. They are together; he will not let them be separated again. “You know best what words warm my heart.” 

“I prefer the ones that make you blush,” Joe teases. And there, in that half-smile, he sees the first step towards normal. 

“Then start with those and go from there. We have time, my love. All the time in the world...”


End file.
